


Survivor

by autumnlouise



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Alina Goes To Canada, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mentions of Redacted, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Mentor Tessa and Student Alina, Multi, Will Tessa and Scott Get Their Shit Together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlouise/pseuds/autumnlouise
Summary: Alina knows she’s a goner the second the door opens and she sees Zhenya’s face, tired and worried but familiar, and the heavy sobs she’s been holding back all night suddenly burst out of her.“Alina? What’s going on?” Zhenya’s voice is thick as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.“Zhen, I…” she shuts her eyes as the tears come faster. “Please. I need your help. I can’t do this anymore.”Or,With the help of Evgenia, Brian, and a plane ticket to Canada, Alina decides it’s time to make a change.NOTE: Sporadic updates, but story is still ongoing!





	1. полночь (midnight)

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I can't believe I'm writing RPF, but honestly... I can. I've fallen so far down the VM rabbit hole that I knew I'd end up here eventually. I thought I'd be here with a VM centric fic (I'm working on a few right now), but I was so inspired by all my feelings from Russian Nats that I had to write this immediately!
> 
> Sorry in advance for all the angst. It'll get better in later chapters!

Alina’s entire body aches.

She’s grown used to the dull, ever-present pain over the past few months, spreading after the Olympics from her ankles to her knees, slowly winding up her spine and shoulders with the pressure of a lover’s touch– or perhaps a predator’s. It runs down her arms. Her fingertips. Her hands shake, as if her body is exhausted from the exertion of trying to keep itself together. It’s ceaseless. It follows her like a shadow.

Tonight, it holds a tight grip on her, pressing so tightly on every part of her that she fears she’ll look at her own skin and see bruises. She can’t help but let out a hiss of pain as she lowers herself into the ice bath Eteri had ordered her to take, to “stave off soreness”, to keep her body “fresh” for training. Nationals may have been over, but there would be no rest for Alina. She’d finished in the top three out of the seniors, which meant she’d be going to Europeans, and probably Worlds, and all of that meant no end in sight until April at the earliest– if her body could hold out that long. Even under the chill of the ice bath, her muscles still throb, fire running up and down her body. Alina bites her lip and whimpers.

She shifts in the metal tub room service had brought to her, trying in vain to make herself more comfortable; when she fails to find a position that relieves the tightness in her legs, she sighs and settles, resting her head against the edge of the tub as she feels her fingers and toes begin to numb. Perhaps if she stays in long enough, her legs will go numb, too, and she’ll get a break from the awful aches she’s been feeling…

A loud knock at her hotel room door makes her startle, cold water sloshing over the rim of the tub and onto the carpeted floor. Alina swears and reaches for the folded towel on her bed, but her hands still prickle with cold, and the fabric slips through her fingers. “I’m in the bath,” she calls out, scrambling for anything to cover herself with. She has a good idea of who’s outside her room, and she hopes they don’t come in. Hopes she left her door locked.

“Alina? It’s Eteri.” Her coach’s voice is soft from behind the door, and her stomach knots.

“I’m in the bath.” she repeats, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to shield herself.

“That’s fine. I’m coming in.” Eteri calls, and the handle presses down and sticks– Alina feels a brief flash of relief, but then there’s the harsh _beep_ of a key card into being stuck into the door, and the door opens, flooding the room with light. Of course. Of course Eteri has a spare key to her room. Her face flushes and she pulls her knees to her chest, leaving nothing but her back and her shins exposed.

The back of her neck prickles. She feels vulnerable– as though something is going to jump out and grab her from behind. Eteri looks her up and down, her lips twitching into a thin line at the sight of Alina curled up in the ice bath. The prickling on her neck grows. Picking the towel up off of the floor, Eteri drapes it over Alina’s shoulder and turns away.

“Get up and cover yourself. I want to have a talk.”

Alina flushes. Her legs shake, half-numb, half weak with pain, as she steps out of the cold bath and wraps the towel around her. The warm air of the hotel room makes her arms prickle with gooseflesh. Eteri is sitting on her bed, leaving Alina no choice but to sit down beside her.

There is a silence, heavy as the ache in Alina’s body, for a few moments.

“Your skates.” Eteri finally says, her blonde hair a halo around her in the darkness of the room. Alina tenses– she knows what’s coming. “They were satisfactory. But for Europeans, for Worlds, they will need to be better. You leave much to be desired on the ice.”

A pit opens in the bottom of her stomach. Before, in the immediate aftermath of the Olympics, she would have fought. She already had a gold medal; there was no amount of Eteri’s fury at her assertion of independence that could take that away. She’d needed to fight for her programs, had to argue with Eteri for a good while before she’d even think of letting Alina use the song _Survivor_ for her exhibition skate. A few months ago, she would have snapped back. Let out some of the fire she’d learned to channel on the ice.

But tonight she is so tired, and there is nothing left of that spark now. Not a flicker.

“Yes.” she says quietly, forces herself to nod.

Eteri puts a hand on her shoulder, just above the towel. “Your edges need work. You don’t reach deep enough. And if you even want a chance at lasting through the quad, you need to increase your difficulty. The judges aren’t going to be so kind in the future if you continue to skate easy, messy programs.”

A lump starts to form in her throat.

“Mistakes cannot happen.” Eteri goes on, either oblivious to Alina’s distress or completely aware and choosing to ignore it. Alina would assume the latter. “The spiral. And your landings. You under rotate, you give too much away. How are you going to land quads if you can’t properly finish a triple?”

“Quads?” Her voice goes high and breathy, questioning even though she’s known this was coming for her ever since little Alexandra landed her first quad in practice over a year ago. Before, she would have been excited at the opportunity. Eager to prove herself. But now, broken and battered midway through the season, would her body even be able to handle it? She clenches her hands.

Eteri rolls her eyes. “Of course. Sasha and Anna are younger, even, than you, and already landing them in competition. How do you expect to keep up without them?”

Alina looks away, ashamed. Just months ago, she’d been a champion, but at the moment she feels like it’s all a fraud. How can she be a star when she is falling apart so quickly? When there are a handful of young girls, barely more than children, already beginning to overtake her?

“Alina.” Eteri’s voice is hard, using a finger to turn her pupil’s face back towards hers. She shivers, but not from the cold.

“Yes.” is all she says, tears stinging at her eyes unexpectedly. Alina doesn’t cry often. She cried at the Olympics, but out of happiness; and when she first moved to Moscow, she often cried at practice. But she doesn’t cry out of pain any longer– especially not in front of Eteri. Especially not now. She feels her cheeks burn as a tear escapes from her eye and rolls down her cheek.

Her coach holds her face tightly in her hands. “Stop crying.” she says firmly, giving Alina a little shake. “The only tears you are allowed are the ones you have earned from a gold medal around your neck.”

Alina lets out a small sob and reaches up to wipe her running nose with the back of her hand. “Yes.” she repeats, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing her emotions under control. No tears.

When she finally forces herself to become still and silent, she gathers the courage to open her eyes. Eteri is staring at her, eyes calculating, running over every flaw, every weakness, Alina shows. She locks eyes with Alina.

“You will work harder.” she says, and it’s not a question.

Alina nods.

“Show me why I decided you were worth my time in the first place.”

She looks down at her feet, still regaining color from the forgotten ice bath.

After a long moment of silence, Eteri removes her hand from Alina’s cheek and stands. “Well. I’m glad we had this talk. Goodnight, Alina.”

“Goodnight,” she responds, and her voice is no more than a breath of air. A few moments later, the door to her room opens and then closes, automatically locking itself with a resounding _click_. Alina gets up and double checks the lock anyways. Just to make sure.

Her body aches, her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and her stomach feels hollow. She wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years. But her conversation with Eteri keeps replaying over and over again in her mind as she pulls on a pair of soft, silky pajamas. When she curls up on top of the white hotel room duvet, she finds herself staring at the dark wall, thinking of everything and nothing and wondering _what am I going to do? How am I going to do this?_

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until several minutes later, when her pillow is suddenly wet with tears.

She can’t keep doing this anymore, she realizes. Breaking her body in an effort to go faster, higher, to complete jumps that leave her feeling crippled from the pain. Hiding injuries. She still wants to skate. She can’t imagine being anywhere but on the ice. But she can’t do that, not like this. Not with Eteri.

But _without_  Eteri, she has nothing. Her coach is responsible for finding music, bringing in choreographers, writing her practices, program feedback, training regiments, diets. She is the one who led Alina to gold in Pyeongchang. If she left, where would she go? Who would take her after Eteri’s certain vengeance of lashing out to the media and tarnishing her name? Alina shivers, recalling how quickly the woman had turned on Zhenya, her protegée, after she’d gone all the way to Canada.

And then she remembers.

Zhenya.

Zhenya had left Eteri with her career intact. She wasn’t on the top of the podium anymore, but she was happier at these Nationals than Alina had seen her in years. It had been so strange to see her at the rink for the competition, to exchange smiles across the ice but not warm up and train side-by-side. She’d changed so much, at least in appearance, but still she was somehow the same Zhenya who had the crowd wrapped around her fingers during her programs, who was strong and stubborn and brave. Still the same Zhenya who had been her friend. Her competitor.

She remembers their goodbye.

It had been an awkward hug after her last day at the rink, nostalgic and wistful. Neither one of them had really wanted to let go. They'd both been filled with so much excitement then, Alina remembers– Zhenya with the prospect of a new beginning, and Alina still coming off the high of a gold medal. Her body hadn't been so heavy then, and Evgenia had been warm as she took her into her arms one last time, her sweet perfume engulfing her. Her breath had been warm on her ear as she’d leaned close and whispered, _if you need anything, Al, I’m here._

_Anything._

There is so much space between them. If she went to her now, would that offer still stand?

There is only one way to find out.

Alina dries her tears, gets up, and unlocks the door.

She knows Zhenya’s room number– she snuck a glance at the directory of skaters when she was checking into the hotel. They are on the same floor. Just a few rooms apart. Yet they've barely spoken through the whole competition except for curt nods and congratulations. Her hands start shaking as she pads down the hallway. What if she turns her away? What if an ocean and six months is too large a gap to bridge? With every step, her anxiety grows.

She stands in front of the door, takes a breath. Hesitates. If she goes back now, she’ll leave the competition with everything as it was before, familiar yet toxic. A future that's more certain but wasting away. But if she tries her luck, looks beyond the door, what will she see?

A chance. Maybe an opportunity for a new start, like Zhenya’s. A spark of hope.

However small that spark may be, it’s enough. She swallows her tears and knocks. There’s silence for a moment, and she stops breathing until she hears the familiar light footsteps and the heavy click of the lock.

Alina knows she’s a goner the second the door opens and she sees Zhenya’s face, tired and worried but familiar, and the heavy sobs she’s been holding back all night suddenly burst out of her.

“Alina? What’s going on?” Zhenya’s voice is thick as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Zhen, I…” she shuts her eyes as the tears come faster. “Please. I need your help. I can’t do this anymore.”


	2. утро (morning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all so much for reading! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me! I'm sorry about the delayed update; I meant to have this chapter up a few days ago, but it's been a bit of a rough week and I've had a bit of writer's block as well. The next few chapters after this will be a lot more dynamic, so hopefully I'll have an easier time with those. Thanks for reading and I hope you stick around!

Without a word, Evgenia puts her arm around Alina and pulls her into the room, the door shutting quickly behind them. Zhenya looks at her up and down, concern shining in her eyes. She looks on edge, almost afraid. Alina realizes it’s because of her– _she’s worried about me._

“Alin, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Alina stammers, wiping at her eyes. She can’t find the words to adequately describe what’s going on. “I can’t stay here anymore. Zhenya... I want to get out.”

Evgenia is silent, staring at her with something like disbelief in her eyes… and then a moment later, her face softens, and she takes both of Alina’s hands in hers. “What’s happened since I left?”

Alina swallows. “Everything.”

Zhenya squeezes her hand gently.“Tell me. Please.”

She’s never been able to refuse Zhenya anything– so she does.

They lie on Evgenia’s bed and talk, almost like the old days, but everything is so much darker, so much heavier. Alina tells her about the pain, how her body is breaking down. Her struggles on the ice. Eteri’s demands. How she feels like she’s drowning and can’t reach the surface, and Eteri has chained herself to her, dragging her down, down, down. She starts to cry again when she tells her about Eteri’s visit to her room, and without hesitation Zhenya pulls her into her arms. Alina leans against the other girl’s chest, ashamed at the tears falling down her cheeks, but for once, for the first time in a long time, not feeling quite so alone.

At some point she stops talking. She closes her eyes and leans into Zhenya, shocked at her blatant longing and surprised when the other girl pulls her closer instead of pushing her away. Six months is so long. They have problems to solve and time to make up for and thousands of miles of space to fill between them. Evgenia runs her fingers through Alina’s hair absentmindedly, and the only sounds in the dark room are the sounds of their breathing and the loud, steady thumping of Alina’s heartbeat at Zhenya’s touch.

“Alina,” Zhenya whispers into the darkness, voice laced with pain. Alina is half asleep, straddling the line between reality and a dream, too exhausted to do anything more than sigh softly. “My Alina, what have they done to you?”

She’s asleep before she can form a response.

* * *

 

When she wakes the next morning, it’s to the sound of Zhenya’s voice, speaking quietly in a language that Alina doesn’t recognize. She opens her eyes and rolls over to see Evgenia resting against the headboard of the bed, knees to her chest, phone to her ear. Sunlight streams into the room from the glass doors leading to the little balcony, highlighting the tiniest traces of a brassy gold in Zhenya’s hair.

“Yes.” she says in accented but smooth English, refined from her time in Canada. She’s nodding along to whatever the person on the other line is saying. “Okay. I will see you later. Thank you.” and she quickly hangs up the phone, tossing it face down onto the bed.

Turning to Alina, she smiles. “Good morning.” She’s switched back to Russian now, something Alina is thankful for. She can understand English well enough, but speaking it herself is a struggle. She really should put more time into her English studies…

“Good morning.” Alina responds cautiously, unsure of where they stand after six months apart and a hasty, emotional reunion. “Who were you talking to?”

Zhenya jumps off the bed, rustling around in her suitcase before pulling out a pair of leggings and a Team Russia jacket. “Brian. He’s going to meet us for breakfast. Do you need to borrow something?”

Alina’s nose crinkles in confusion. “Breakfast?” And before she can look away, Zhenya’s stripping her pajamas away and putting her day clothes on in front of Alina. It’s just like when they were younger, having sleepovers at each other’s apartments and waking up in the morning to get ready for a day at the rink together. But Zhenya’s changed since then; she’s not so thin anymore, looks healthier than when she’d left Eteri. Alina wonders if Brian has her on a specific diet.

“Of course. Aren’t you hungry?” She teases, smiling as she looks into the mirror and zips up her jacket. “And besides, we have to plan. I’m getting you out of here. Brian’s going to help us.”

“Really?” Alina can’t help the disbelief that bleeds into her voice. “You’re… you’re actually going to help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Zhenya frowns as she brushes out her hair.

A lot of reasons, Alina thinks. They haven’t spoken in six months. Alina had stopped trying to reach out and after a handful of calls that went straight to voicemail. And the rivalry, the media trying to pit them against each other in a battle for gold, and the fact that it had almost worked– they hadn’t spoken for several days after Alina had stolen the Olympic gold medal that everyone thought should have belonged to Zhenya.

Instead of any of this, Alina simply says, “We haven’t spoken. I thought… I thought…” her voice dies in her throat.

Zhenya whirls around, looking for a moment almost distraught. “Alin, no,” she insists, grabbing the other girl’s hands. The touch, while it had been comforting last night, startles Alina this morning. They can both feel the gap six months of silence has wedged between them. The distance they’ll have to overcome. “We’ll work it out.” Evgenia insists.

Alina’s nodding, absorbed in the moment. But before she can say anything, Zhenya reaches into her suitcase and throws a ball of clothes at her face. “Now put these on!” she orders, grinning impishly. “Food and your future await.”

She rolls her eyes as she pulls her pajamas off, slipping into a soft purple sweater and leggings. Typical Zhenya. At least some things hadn’t changed.

After they’re both at least somewhat put together, they leave Zhenya’s room and take the elevator to the ground floor, where the dining room is set up for a complimentary breakfast for guests. Alina had worried that Eteri would be there as well, but Evgenia assured her before leaving that Brian had seen her leave the hotel several hours earlier with her gaggle of juniors in tow. Probably for some sort of victory lunch, Alina thinks, half-sadly, half-scathingly. She remembered those days well, when competitions ended on a high note and Eteri would reward her for a good performance. Now it seems that she’s being cast aside.

Not that it matters, she tells herself. It doesn’t. Not at all.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by Evgenia shouting out a hello to someone seated at a table– Brian, she thinks– who rises from a seat to greet her with a hug. Alina’s seen him from afar for years, and has watched him even more closely over the last months now that Zhenya trains with him, but she doesn’t know much about him. He’s Canadian, he’s successful, and looks ever so slightly like a teddy bear.

“Alina,” Brian says, offering her a kind smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

It takes her several seconds to translate his words from English to Russian in her mind, and several more to figure out a response. “Yes,” she tries in English, her voice shaky and unsure. “Very good. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m very excited to chat with you, Evgenia tells me you’re curious about some new opportunities?”

Brian’s started talking faster now, and Alina finds herself lost halfway through his sentence, a feeling of panic seeping over her. Is the whole meal going to be like this? She’s never felt so out-of-place in her life. Blessedly, Zhenya realizes her struggle and starts to translate for her before she can even throw her a desperate glance. Relief washes over Alina.

Evgenia turns to Brian and explains something in fast English, and the three of them sit down at the table, Brian and Alina across from each other, and Zhenya in between them both; their interpreter. A waitress comes over and asks them what they’d like; Alina orders _blini_ while Zhenya and Brian opt for an American breakfast– eggs, sausage, grits. Alina stares at Zhenya for a moment in shock– is this what it would be like to live and train somewhere else? Would she have to leave behind even her culture, her language, in pursuit of something new? Apprehension begins to creep up behind her, causing her shoulders to tense.

Their conversation is charming– Brian is friendly, kind, and easy to talk to– but also so very strange. His kindness is a bit foreign to her, and she finds herself wondering if it’s truly genuine. And with Zhenya as their go-between, Alina has to keep reminding herself that it’s the Canadian coach she’s talking to, not her friend, and so several times she finds herself backtracking, being more guarded with her words and her responses.

“What are you looking for, Alina?”

Without missing a beat, she responds, “A way out.”

Brian tells her that there are dozens of coaches who would be eager to work with her; he even offers to reach out to them for her, get a sense of how they work. He asks if she minds being far from home, and her answer is a shrug. Part of her is terrified at the thought of leaving Russia. Sure, she’s moved before, from her little hometown to an apartment in center Moscow to be able to train with the best. But her grandmother was with her. And Moscow is still _Russia_ – the only home she’s ever known.

But there’s another part of her that wants to see the world, wants as far away from here as possible. And she can’t ignore that, either.

It’s not until much later that they even breach the subject of _Brian_ coaching her himself. He brings it up hesitantly, saying something that makes Zhenya snort into her coffee– apparently, something along the lines of, “You are always welcome in Toronto, but I’m not sure if you’d be interested in training with me when Evgenia’s already there–” and both girls start laughing, because for years before she’d left, Zhenya and Alina had been inseparable, and certainly it’d be the same again if they were reunited.

 _Reunited._ She’d never thought of that before. That they might be able to train together again. Private jokes to get them through practice, their shorthand language on the ice. Pushing each other to get better and better in their own little competitions. She tries to imagine herself in Toronto with Brian and Zhenya, and she finds it’s not hard. Perhaps somewhere new would be a little better, a little more bearable, when Zhenya by her side.

After she stops laughing, she tells him through Zhenya, “I would like that very much.”

He breaks into a grin, looking like the world’s happiest stuffed toy. “Me, too. Let’s meet again and we can get into the specifics. I really think you’ll do great with us in Toronto.”

Their food comes then, and Brian doesn’t comment on calories or the content of either of their plates. That alone makes this breakfast better than any meal she’s ever had with Eteri.

At the end of their chat, Brian hugs Alina when she reaches for a handshake. She’s taken by surprise, but the embrace is warm, and she finds she doesn’t mind it after all.

“Ho-ro-sho. Spah-see-bah bol-shoy.” he says in heavy, broken Russian.

Alina can’t help but grin. Without Evgenia’s help she manages to tell him, “Your Russian– very bad. But my English very bad as well!”

Together, all three of them laugh, and something gentle and warm begins to bloom inside her. And in that moment, Canada doesn’t seem so different from home after all.


	3. новый год (new year)

“Alinka, do you  _ have _ to go out tonight?” Sabina asks, flopping down onto Alina’s bed and sighing loudly. 

From her place in front of her bedroom mirror, Alina smiles. Her little sister has been asking her the same question all day, begging ceaselessly to just–

“ _ Please?”  _ Sabina whines. “We always spend New Year together, please stay, please,  _ please _ ?” 

She rolls her eyes as she winds another piece of hair around her curling iron. “I’m sorry, Sabichka, I already promised Zhenya I’d go.” she repeats for what must be the thousandth time that day. 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with Mama and Papa and Babushka.” her sister sighs. “They’re no fun.”

“You have Masaru,” Alina points out, and at the sound of his name, her precious dog looks up from where he’d been sleeping on her bed. “And if it makes you feel better, I’m sure I’ll have a horrible, boring, rotten time without you, Sabin.” 

Her sister rolls over on the bed. “You’d better.” she says, her voice teasing and threatening at the same time. And in the blink of an eye, she’s back on her feet, zipping over to Alina’s closet, sadness suddenly gone. “Hey, if you’re going out, can I wear your pretty black dress for dinner?” 

Alina’s about to tell her  _ no _ ,  _ you absolutely cannot borrow my best dress _ ,  _ you’ll ruin it, _ when there’s a knock on her door and her mother peeks into the room. Alina’s still not used to how crowded the apartment is with her parents and sister visiting from Izhevsk for the holidays. How cramped it feels to share a room with Sabina after having it to herself for so long. It’s a welcome presence, but she’s looking forward to escaping for the night with Zhenya, if only to have some breathing room.

“Evgenia is here.” her mother says, beckoning her to come. Alina hurriedly finishes her last curl and grabs her bag, grinning excitedly.

“Thanks for the dress!” Sabina calls as Alina dashes out of the room.

“Don’t you dare, you little imp!” Alina yells back, but she knows that no matter what she says, she’s going to come home and find it wrinkled and possibly spotted with stains of celebratory New Years champagne. She’s still chuckling at the thought when she sees Zhenya standing in the doorway of their apartment, smiling and making small talk with her father. 

And she freezes.

She’s dazzling in a fitted black dress and thin high heels that show of the curves of her torso, her legs. The accents in her makeup bring out the lighter flecks of honey in her eyes. Alina’s heart skips a beat, and her stomach drops at the feeling–  _ I just wish I could be that beautiful– _ she tries to tell herself, and before she can fully pull herself together Zhenya’s wrapping her arms around her in a familiar hug.

“I was starting to think you’d never come.” Zhenya teases, and the soft smell of Pantene conditioner hits Alina’s nose. “Ready?”

She nods, a little dizzy. “When you are.”

They say a quick goodbye to her parents, and her mother compliments Zhenya’s gorgeous outfit with a longing look in her eyes– she could never afford that kind of dress– and her father’s telling them not to be out too late. But Alina’s barely paying attention, and then Zhenya’s pulling her out the door, and they’re heading out into the cold Moscow night. 

“You look gorgeous, Alin.” Evgenia tells her, and Alina blushes. She hugs her jacket tighter around her shoulders, pretending the flush in her cheeks is from the cold.

“You, too.” she forces herself to say. “Can we get a taxi to dinner? I don’t think I can walk all the way to the restaurant in these shoes,” she jokes, trying to change the subject and get her thoughts far away from Zhenya’s outfit. Besides, they’ve only gone a block and her calves are cramping, her already sore legs screaming at her to stop. 

Evgenia bumps her with her hip. “Wimp,” she teases, but she pulls out her phone and uses an app to call them a ride.

It’s quiet until they get to dinner. They haven’t seen each other except for Skype video chats or long FaceTime calls since Nationals a few weeks before– Zhenya’s been busy getting reacquainted with Moscow, seeing old friends and family. It’s not surprising, then, that her social quota is full, and all she has time for with Alina is planning. Evgenia texts her profiles of each and every coach Brian had suggested, and once Alina had decided that Brian was still the best fit, she’d started to send videos of her own practice sessions in Toronto, even potential program music, names of choreographers. When they do talk, it’s about skating and logistics and endless pros-and-cons lists. It’s nice to be in contact with her friend, but Alina is sick of it, sick of how impersonal everything is– so when Evgenia had invited her to dinner and a New Year’s party, she’d jumped at the chance.

She knows the topic of skating is bound to come up– Evgenia’s stubborn, and skating is both of their  _ entire lives _ , for crying out loud– but Alina’s hoping that this means that they’ll finally be able to  _ talk _ . To figure out what went wrong all those months ago and bridge the looming gap between them. 

But of course, as soon as they’re seated at a Japanese restaurant that they both favor, Evgenia reaches into her purse and pulls out a folder filled with papers. Alina stifles a groan.

“I was talking to Brian, and he drew up these figures for me to give to you.” Zhenya says, sliding the documents over to Alina’s side of the table. “Go on, take a look.”

She wants to snap at Zhenya,  _ do we really have to do this now?  _ But she doesn’t want to shut down the only topic of conversation that seems to last between them, doesn’t want to make it seem like she wants to push Zhenya away even further. So she pulls the papers towards her, opens the folder. Shuffles through them. Her fingers runs over the extending column of numbers, her stomach sinking further and further with each line…

When she finally reads the total, her eyes nearly bulge out of her head.

“Zhenya…” she says quietly, unsure of what to say. She’d known that the costs of training abroad would be expensive; in Russia, the national skating federation covered most of the expenses, especially those of the national team members. And she’d known for a long time now that Zhenya had more money than her-- but just how much, she had never been sure.

Now she knows. Compared to her, Zhenya seems  _ rich _ –– and the luxury of training with a coach other than Eteri is something that Alina feels like she’ll never be able to afford.

“I know it looks like a lot–”

“ _ Looks like!”  _ Alina yelps, shoving the papers back at her. “Zhenya, I can’t afford this.”

“But your national team salary should help cover it! And your reward for the gold medal, too.” 

Alina swallows. The prize money she’d been awarded after the Olympics had gone mostly to help support her family. But even if she’d decided to save it, it would only allow her a few months of training in Toronto, if that. The sheer size of the expenses made her feel sick. 

“It won’t.” She says tightly, schooling her expression. 

Across the table, Zhenya tilts her head slightly, looking at Alina as if she were some sort of strange creature. “But, you have endorsements and sponsorships and…”

“It won’t work.” She repeats, shutting the folder and hoping to put an end to the conversation once and for all. “Thank you for trying. But it won’t work. I can’t afford this.” and she can’t help the tears that start to prick in her eyes at the realization that she’s going to be stuck here, trapped with Eteri, for the rest of her career––

When she looks up again, the confusion in Zhenya’s eyes is gone, replaced with a fierce burning. “I’ll find a way.” she vows, slipping the folder back into her bag. “We won’t leave you here. Have faith in Brian. Have faith in  _ me _ .” 

There’s a sour taste in her mouth as the waitress brings them their food. The sushi she usually adores suddenly doesn’t seem so appetizing. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” she says quietly, and for the rest of the meal, both of them are silent.

* * *

 

They still haven’t spoken when they leave the restaurant nearly an hour later, and there’s an awkwardness building in the space between them. Alina debates calling a taxi to take her home, to spend the rest of her evening with her family, as usual. Sabina would be so happy, she thinks to herself. But then in the middle of their walk to… well, wherever this party Zhenya had discussed would be… Evgenia reaches down and wraps her arm through Alina’s, pulling the other girl closer to her.

“Okay, Alin, time to cheer up.” She teases, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “We’re going to a party, and we’re going to have fun, because it’s New Year. I refuse to let you be sad.”

“I suppose,” she says quietly, avoiding eye contact. 

“You suppose!” Zhenya chastises. “We are going to the best New Years’ party in all Russia. I guarantee a good time, money-back guarantee.” she promises with a beaming smile. And then, as the realization of what she’s said hits her–  _ money-back guarantee _ – that beautiful smile Alina had missed for so long begins to disappear.

“No, it’s fine!” she blurts. “I don’t want to be upset anymore. Let’s enjoy ourselves. I’ll see for myself if this is really the best party in the world, yes?” she brings out her own smile, determined to bring back Zhenya’s impish grin. 

“I did not promise the  _ world _ ,  _ dura. _ ” Zhenya says with a roll of her eyes. “Just Russia. But is there a difference?”

_ No _ , Alina thinks, looking into Zhenya’s brown eyes and thinking that wherever her friend is, the world follows. Zhenya is kind, endearing, and has a persona on the ice that instantly has her audience wrapped around her fingers. Even off the ice, Evgenia is Russia’s darling. Evgenia is the world and more. 

Zhenya winks as she leads the way, through the city center and to the eighth floor of an apartment building in one of the nicer districts of Moscow. 

It’s obvious that they’ve arrived at the location of the party before Zhenya even knocks on the door. The music is so loud that Alina had heard it all the way in the elevator shaft, and the bass is turned up high enough to shake the hallway. Somehow, through the din, someone hears Zhenya’s gentle knock on the door. A moment later, a muscular man not much taller than Zhenya opens the door, greeting Evgenia with a kiss on each cheek and a cheerfull hello.

“Nikita,  _ privyet _ ,” she says, returning his greeting. “Thank you for the invitation. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought a friend?”

The man turns his attention to Alina and offers a smile. “Of course not, the more the merrier. Come on in.”

The inside of the apartment is dark, save for flashing blue and green strobe lights, and reeks of alcohol and sweat. All of the furniture in the sitting room has been pushed up against the wall to make room for dancing, and the remaining space is packed with people. On the flat-screen television, there’s a clock counting down to midnight. Alina instantly feels claustrophobic. 

“I’ll take your coats. There’s refreshments in the kitchen.” Nikita tells them, pulling Alina’s jacket off before she can even shrug it off of her shoulders. He turns and heads further into the apartment, and Zhenya looks eager to follow him.

She reaches down and touches Alina’s wrist. “I’ll go get us drinks, okay?” she says, and before Alina can say anything she disappears into the crowd.

“Really?” She groans. Is Zhenya for real, leaving her alone? And after the conversation at dinner, too? At least the fact that she’s getting drinks makes up for it just a bit. Standing alone at the edge of the crowd is awkward as hell, and she could really use a shot of  _ something _ to make the night more bearable. 

Self-conscious, she leans against the wall and crosses her arms over her chest.  _ She’ll be back soon _ , she keeps telling herself, even when the countdown timer ticks closer and closer to midnight. Five minutes. Ten. No Zhenya.

Fuck.

Maybe she should’ve stayed home after all. Maybe all those months in Toronto had changed Evgenia. Maybe she really didn’t care about Alina at all, didn’t want to help her, and was just leading her along to drop her at the last moment. Maybe she’d been planning to ditch her all along, and all of this was some cruel joke, just to stab her in the back for what happened in Pyeongchang…

She’s about to pull out her phone and call– well, she hadn’t gotten that far yet, she just needed a way  _ out _ – when she sees a familiar brown updo bobbing through the crowd. A moment later, Zhenya breaks through a group of dancers with a martini glass in each hand, neon blue liquid sloshing over the edges. A blonde follows her, laughing at something Evgenia had said, her long fingers curled around Zhenya’s shoulder.

A spike of jealousy bursts through Alina. She’s ready to spit fire by the time Evgenia gets back to her, smiling as though nothing happened. “Here, have some,” she holds out the glass in offering.

Alina snatches it out of her hand and downs half of it in one gulp. The alcohol burns as it runs down her throat, and she has to quickly force down a wave of bile, barely keeping herself from throwing up all over the floor. Eyes watering, she coughs out, “Where were you?”

“You have to drink it  _ slower _ , idiot,” she chides Alina teasingly. And then her face softens when she sees Alina’s tense posture, the anger in her eyes. “Oh, Alin, I’m sorry! I meant to only be a minute, really, and then I ran into Dasha in the kitchen, and she just couldn’t stop talking–”

The blonde girl laughs, and Alina thinks she might actually throw up this time.

“Alina, this is Daria Spiridonova,” Evgenia says, “This is her party. Nikita, from before, is her husband.”

And when the blonde sticks out her hand, a burst of recognition hits Alina like a slap to the face.  _ Oh. _ Daria Spiridonova, one of the gymnasts from the last Olympic team. And she’s wearing a  _ wedding ring. _

Suddenly feeling stupid, Alina halfheartedly shakes Daria’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” she says kindly. “I’ve heard so much about you. Congratulations, by the way. 2018 was a good year, yes?”

She nods. “Yes,” she replies, not meeting Evgenia’s eyes. “Very.” 

“Why don’t I take you to meet some of my friends?” Dasha offers, beckoning towards an inner room of the apartment. Alina nods halfheartedly, sure that she’s about to get abandoned again or become the third-wheel. But then Evgenia reaches down and twines their fingers together, leading her along as they follow Dasha.

“I’m sorry I left you,” Evgenia whispers.

“That was dumb.” Alina snaps.

“It was dumb.” Evgenia agrees, giggling a little. She’s tipsy already.  “But now I’m not letting go of you for the rest of the night, see? And I have a surprise, it will be worth it, I promise…” 

Daria leads them into another room, this one slightly less crowded and occupied mostly by a gaggle of girls laughing in the center of the floor. The gymnast calls to them, and they all look over, and Alina instantly recognizes their faces– they’re all professional gymnasts, Dasha’s training mates on the national team. Maria Paseka, Angelina Melnikova, Lilia Akhaimova, and–

“Aliya Mustafina!” Alina gasps. “Zhenya, oh!” Suddenly she’s dizzy, feels like she’s about to explode, and it’s not from the drink. Standing  _ right there _ is one of her idols, a two-time Olympic champion, the queen of gymnastics… a Tatar, just like her… Zhenya had known how much Alina looked up to her, had known that she was going to be here when she invited her...   _ Zhenya had brought her here to meet Aliya Mustafina. _

She tears up at the gesture.

“Hello, it’s Alina, right?” Aliya asks her, smiling. Any anger she’d been harboring towards Zhenya instantly vanishes. This is worth it, a thousand times. Alina might just die, right here, right now.

The night somehow only gets better from there. The two skaters talk and dance with the gymnasts, trading stories of competitions and training and Olympic experiences. The drink starts to kick in half an hour in, and Alina’s riding a comfortable buzz, feeling better than she has in weeks. For once, there’s no worries on her mind. No Eteri, no skating, no thoughts about what’s to come. There’s just music and laughter and the feeling of Zhenya’s hand against hers, because true to her promise, she still hasn’t let go once. 

As they get closer and closer to midnight, Zhenya starts telling stories about training in Toronto that make Alina laugh out loud– pranking Brian, shenanigans with Yuzuru and Jason, video game tournaments in the break room between all the skaters. It’s the opposite of anything they ever had with Eteri. There’s no fear, no shouting and crying. No arguing over music and choreography that they were never allowed to choose. Evgenia’s eyes shine brighter than Alina’s seen in years when she talks about Toronto. Everything she says is just so carefree and happy and  _ normal _ , and suddenly she wants all of it so badly. She wants Canada. She wants that future. She’s more sure of it than ever. She’ll get there, even if she has to use every last penny in the process. 

2019 is going to be her year. She can feel it. 

Suddenly it’s 11:56, and people are rushing into the living room, crowding around the television to wait for the  _ exact moment _ when the clock strikes midnight. Zhenya and Alina linger in the side room, sprawled across Dasha’s couch and talking in the glare of the strobe lights and the moon. 

“Did you know,” Zhenya says to her, a finger drawing lazy circles on the back of Alina’s hand, “That in America, people celebrate the New Year with a kiss?” 

Alina wrinkles her nose in surprise. “Who told you  _ that? _ ”

“Nathan. Nathan Chen.” 

She snorts. How superficial, to start the year by kissing someone who you might not even  _ be _ with come next December. But part of it intrigues her– it’s stupid and sentimental, but it’s  _ romantic. _ “Did Nathan offer  _ you _ a kiss at midnight?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. 

Zhenya shrugs. “I told him I was saving it for someone else.” 

Alina’s stomach explodes in butterflies.

In the other room, people start shouting along to the countdown–  _ ten, nine, eight! _ – and Alina’s heart is pounding, even harder than the moment before she’d first skated onto the Olympic ice. And it’s as though she’s in some kind of trance as she and Zhenya lean towards each other. She grabs Evgenia’s other hand. Their shoulders are touching. Their foreheads. Noses. Evgenia lets a tiny, tentative exhale, her breath sweet with a tang of blue raspberry. Alina’s entire body  _ aches _ with a yearning so deep she thinks she might crack and shatter. She closes her eyes and tilts her head ever so slightly.

_ Three, two, one– _

But the kiss Alina had been expecting doesn’t come. And Evgenia’s warmth vanishes as she untangles herself from Alina and pulls away.

_ Happy new year!  _

Alina opens her eyes to see Evgenia sitting across from her, her own eyes wide with shock, fear. Both of her hands are against her face, her fingers resting against her lips. For the first time all evening, Zhenya has let go of her hand.

An indescribable pain shoots through Alina’s chest. 

“Zhenya–”

“I’m sorry.” Evgenia blurts. “I’m sorry. I… I…” 

Alina turns her head and looks away, trying to hide the few tears that are now trickling down her cheeks. She finds that she has nothing left to say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and for all your lovely reviews! I originally wanted to have New Years' and Christmas in one chapter, but this ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated. So, up next is Christmas (which is on Jan. 7 in Russia) and a much-needed conversation between Alina and Evgenia. Chapter four will also be the last chapter that takes place in Russia. Canada, here we come!


	4. a note/apology

Hi everyone,

I'm so incredibly sorry for disappearing these past few months. I had several unexpected problems arise this semester at university as well as in my personal life that have been preventing me from writing. But thankfully the semester is almost over, and I should have plenty of time to continue this story over the summer! It was never my intention to stop updating, and I hope that you all will enjoy the chapters to come. Thank you for all of your kudos and lovely comments!

Autumn


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